


House Cordonah's Town Clown

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Being underestmated, F/M, House Cordonah, Spies, Town-Clown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byerly Vorrutyer is kicked off Barrayar after the events of Captain Vorpatril's Alliance. He's got to get a survival plan before the Arquas choose a role for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Cordonah's Town Clown

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after CVA and contains MAJOR spoilers for it.

Before their jumpship broke Barrayar orbit, Byerly's new family mused over what he could do for them.

They didn't bother to check that he was out of hearing. He was sitting in a bar area of the ludicrously and lewdly painted ship, in a corner and out of the way, but still present, and one or two of them had glanced at them as they filed in. 

“The man's a drunk who spies on his friends for money. What use is he to us?”  
This was Pidge, or Baronette Paloma, as she had frostily instructed Byerly to address her. 

She had a point. His metier had been the upper-crust Vor scene of Vorbarr Sultana, and he'd perfected it over a dozen years. He'd been critiqued—mostly favorably, but with a couple of real stinkers—he'd not forgotten the Dono Vorrutyer debacle—by Simon Illyan and Alys Vorpatril, who'd helped him perfect his town-clown disguise. 

By this time he knew a hundred high Vors' complete histories, especially the parts they tried to hide. There were another four hundred he knew well enough to be invited to their house parties, yacht excursions, gallery openings, private dinners, and official imperial soirees. Any hostess who needed a spare man to even up her Winterfair or Midsummer banquets called him. Keeping everyone from suspecting him had taken all the fluidity his personality could manufacture. Here he had no contacts, no blind drop, and no backup, and had been thinking hard about his future. 

Amiri recycled a joke he'd told about Ivan, which Rish had repeated to him:  
“Maybe we can use him in hospitality. How well does he strip?”

Apparently this was just as funny the second time around. Most of the family snickered, although Shiv looked at By and rolled his eyes.

The bar and banquet area was huge for such a small ship, testimony to its previous life as a party ship for Theo Vormercier, embezzler and purveyor of stolen military armaments. Byerly had been been Theo's trusted hanger-on for months when he was pitchforked into this whole mess. Or, to be honest, when he'd involved an outside person, Ivan, into his covert operation. The results had included Ivan's panicked and ludicrous early morning marriage to Tej—he still snorted every time he remembered Ivan asking Tej what her name was as he prepared to marry her. It had kept Tej and the astonishing Rish out of the hands of both the bounty hunters and immigration and gotten them safely to Barrayar.

In the train of that decision, Ivan's new Jackson's Whole/Cetagandan family had moved onto Barrayar, tunneled under Cockroach Central, the ImpSec—IMPSEC!--headquarters--with an experimental bio-engineered earth-eating fungus. He hadn't realized how callous these brigands were. They'd discovered the priceless treasures in the forgotten Cetagandan bunker, then been trapped by a tunnel cave-in. He'd had to rappel into the bunker to help rescue the criminals, barely controlling his fear of heights.

In the ludicrous sequel, the ImpSec building succumbed to the implacable gravity and followed its weakened foundation deep into the earth. It was ridiculous, hysterically funny, frightening, and—not really all his fault! Thank God it hadn't been fatal, or he, Ivan, and the family would all be in Barrayaran prisons.

The one beautiful and amazing result of the whole mess was Rish. His lovely blue goddess, a perfect dancer in deep blue with gold tracings and a pelt of golden hair, meant more to him than all his casual lovers before. None of them, of any gender, surpassed this woman. Her exquisite senses of taste and smell had amazed him. He adored taking her to fine restaurants and watching her savor their meals. 

She hadn't had any time to do more than basic stretching and dance practice since he'd known her, but even watching this was sheer heaven. But reunion with the rest of the Jewels had been more intense for her than simple brother-sister relationships. They communicated with a language of small gestures and body movements a shorthand to their union. They flowed together as rainbows in body, spirit, and for all he knew, telepathic minds as well. He could never share this essential part of her life.

Rish wasn't paying any attention to him now. She'd joined the conversation pit at the bar, listening and silent. 

The living quarters of the jumpship were adequate for parties, but not for a whole clan of buzzing conspirators. Some sharing was inevitable, and he didn't get to bunk with her. She had been very distracted earlier in the day, and had finally snapped at him that she got terribly jump-sick, and he should have remembered that, and she DID have the good ImpMed drugs Ivan had given her and Tej, BUT there were others in her family with the same problem, and she'd shared them out, and so now she was going to be terrifically sick again and would he please stop bothering her! 

After which explosion she'd started crying and let him hold her. This was truly odd behavior for the usually cool and somewhat aloof woman. He sneaked her into an empty “conference room”—a tiny theater for lewd shows in its previous life, and got her petted down, relaxed, and soothed. No sex, but at least she smiled at him again.

Grandmother Moira—he was just going to call her 'haut,' Baron Shiv and Baronne Udine shared a suite of two large bedrooms with a small dining room connecting them. The five girls shared another, smaller, two bedroom suite. Jet and Amiri had a single room, and they wouldn't have shared with him until the Baronne glared at them. He had the embarrassment of seeing a cot trundled in beside their large beds, but suppressed this feeling.

The conference ended with all going to their tight quarters in anticipation of the first jump. Byerly was about to get into ship knits for the night when Amiri asked him again, in a uglier tone, “So. How well do you strip, really?”

He eyed the other man, heavier, taller. He'd been remarkably surly and angry since By had met him. By remembered that Amiri had once escaped his clan to pursue a dream career as a physician on Escobar. He might be furious at being dragged back to help his scheming family. Amiri wasn't giving off amorous vibes tonight—this was an attempt to control him. He could play this game. It seemed unlikely that the other man was bent on rape, but he didn't doubt he could escape, as he had done gracefully on a few occasions. There were a few occasions where more than grace had saved him, but he hoped that he didn't have to demonstrate his (yearly updated) set of ImpSec physical training skills. Not fun on a crowded ship where he'd have to work with the man daily.

Automatically putting on his purring voice, he lowered his head and gazed at Amiri through his eyelashes. “I've never had any complaints.” 

Jet came into the bedroom in time to hear the exchange. The Baronne's Jewels never failed to be an astonishing sight, and Jet was a black and silver sculpture of lean dancer. An irritated sculpture tonight.

“Cut it out, Amiri,” he said in a weary tone. “Just ask him if he wants to service you, and when he says. “No,” stay away from him.”

Byerly was no stranger to servicing men—his ImpSec career had some seedy and sordid episodes in it—but he'd always maneuvered away from being forced. 

He continued with his sultry tone, using the beautiful Vorrutyer eyes as always, rolling his shoulders slightly. “I wouldn't mind, Amiri, but I always think turnabout is fair play. What do you say? Shall we send Jet out of the room for a little sixty-nine?”

Amiri grimaced and Jet laughed. One out of two was enough. He undressed easily without any false modesty and calmly slipped into his ship knits.

The next morning after the jump saw only half of the Arquas functional. Apparently something about being exquisite dancers made the troupe sensitive to any ear canal changes, and Jet was the only one who made it to the bar area, now open for breakfast. He only took tea and crackers, and sipped slowly. 

Byerly himself wasn't as well as usual, but he could take coffee and enjoy a almond cream crepe, delicate, the creamy filling with tiny slivers of almonds and almond flavoring, served with strawberries. It was a favorite breakfast of his, and he'd given his own recipe to the ship's cook. It would have been perfect if the butter was fresh from a creamery, but that was a small detail. Ivan would have been shocked to learn that cookery was another tool for him, especially dramatic dishes taking a minimum of ingredients.

The others were offensively healthy, eating omelets and ham. It was probable, he thought, that being the child of a successful space pirate would gift one with superior tolerance to wormhole excursions. They still weren't talking to him. 

If he didn't come up with a strategy soon, he would be assigned to a dogsbody role. They wouldn't casually dump him out on Komarr. But even though he was out of his element and off balance, he was still ImpSec. They all appeared to have forgotten that. He slipped back to his room and took out an essential accessory. Then he casually visited the electrical and supply rooms he'd noted before. 

The ship only had two areas large enough for conferences, the banquet-bar and the little theater. Now. Should it be temperature or a bad odor? Temperature was more reliable—the clan's setting for the ship were chilly. Finding the thermostats and vents for this area was a little work, not too hard. Would it give away too much if the smaller room were made ready ahead of time? He decided that they wouldn't notice, their focus being too much on long term strategy. He had less than a day to get ready.

When the Arquas came back for lunch, their numbers had been increased by two—Emerald and Pearl were now on board, if weakly. Apparently Rish was the one most affected, poor darling.

The others had hearty sandwiches of roast beef, with a half dozen small bowls of pickles and relishes to accompany them. He'd grabbed them at the last minute for Rish, but she wasn't up to them yet. It didn't look as if anyone would be thanking him. Miles and Gregor were prejudiced to the sweet baked goods of the always remarkable Ma Kosti, but he loved sharper contrasts. Rish had showered him with affectionate kisses when he introduced her to the huge range of Barrayaran mustards. 

“Why are there so many? Usually there are only three or four kinds.”

“Well—I could say that the soil of Barrayar was especially conducive to mustard bushes, but the truth is that they were developed when meat supplies were uncertain. You used what you had, even if it had gotten a bit ripe, and so mustard to cover the taste became essential. Same with all the relishes. All the Districts have their own culinary competitions. Winners not only get ribbons and bragging rights, but a chance to get their recipes to Vorbarr Sultana.” 

Now. Setting the stage. He sat almost out of view. He would eat very little of the delicious sandwiches, and sneak furtive nips out of his hip flask. By tomorrow morning he'd bring it to breakfast with him, hiding it clumsily, and smiling weakly. 

0000

“Why is the bar so hot? Where is the thermostat?” Shiv was angry and literally getting steamed. He didn't need any minor hassles; these conferences were annoying him. He was a man of action, and was very close to telling his children they simply had to follow his order. But he, Udine and Moira had molded the clan to specialize and become useful, and he couldn't discard their expertise. There was the Byerly boy, Rish's pet, drinking again when he thought no one saw him. How could she have picked up such a loser? There were no perfect amnesia pills, but if he had to scrag such a worthless gigolo to seal his mouth, it wouldn't be the first time.

The boy was right here, leaning into him with whiskey on his breath.

“Sir, I think the little performance hall has tables and chairs; maybe you could go there while the crew figururures out wass wrong.” (slurring his speech by lunchtime! What was Rish about?—she couldn't keep her pet.)

The clan moved over to the other room, which was actually a better size. Byerly was being helpful again, showing a crew member where to set up a little bar with coffee, tea, some drinks (which he was sampling, of course!), and some refreshments.

Pidge noticed Byerly staring into a package of snacks and sniffing them dubiously. The demonstration of his poor senses made her laugh, and she gestured to Em and Star. Rish had finally surfaced but she was confused and frowned at him. He took another nip...

This meeting lasted for an hour and broke with few decisions. The Jewels would play their life sculpture roles whatever the rest decided, serving as recording devices when audiences forgot about them.

Byerly stumbled into Rish and smiled blearily at her. She frowned at him and brushed her shoulder to remove his obvious bugging device.

Enough. Shiv said in a commanding tone, “Vorrutyer. Follow me to my suite.”

“Oh?” said Byerly. He was suddenly sharper, more precise, and more dangerous. The jewels were living gems, but he was a living switchblade.

“Don't you want to give the condemned a fair chance? Please, sit down everyone.” It didn't come across as a request, and the puzzled group found themselves drifting down to seats. He turned to Shiv, smiled, and pulled out his flask, reaching into a small crevice for a device.

“Showtime!” he sang out. It was an lighted pointer which he used to illuminate the furbelows and fixtures of this over-decorated room. There were ten tiny video and sound recorders above, and another six audio-only underneath tables. He started playback on one.

Shiv nodded. “A little craft, I grant you—I like the way you suckered us into this other area.”

He grinned. “Yes, I'm good at sucking.” Jet groaned and laughed at him.

“What would you do if your devices were discovered? Rish found yours easily enough.” Baronne Udine demanded.

Smiling even more he said, “She found the one at her shoulder, but I put another one at the bottom of her jacket. She hasn't found that yet.”

Rish looked appalled and pulled up the edge of her hooded jacket.

“Even so. What would you do?” Shiv slung himself forward, gazing fiercely.

He didn't had the bionic chip Illyan had carried for so long, but something almost as good. He'd been gifted with an eidetic memory which had diminished somewhat with his dissipation, before ImpSec, but had been honed again by weary hours, days, of practice. Some of it had been stone-age with actual trays of objects to memorize, and some of it had been through comconsole. He still practiced whenever he could with random generated trays on his hand-held screen.

Starting an an easy pace, he said, “The room has sixteen chairs, two tables, one wonky on a back leg. Two chairs have torn seats, one a split in the back. There are fifteen lights—much too many, wouldn't you say, for a room of this size? There are forty-three ceiling tiles. Three of them are loose, none by me. The carpet has been repaired twice. There are seven comconsoles with these model types"—he listed them. “They all show pornography, sorry.” He had many more statistics, but kept them out now.

“The seats were occupied by”—he pointed—“The meeting started at 13:30 and lasted until 14:23. You each had this to eat and drink.” He recited their choices.

Pidge snorted. “Any good waitress could remember that.”

“Yes, but how much of the conversation do you want to hear?”

The Baronne was the skeptical one now. “You can remember ten people for an hour and a half?”

“Yes, supplemented by however many recorders I can retrieve. For example:”

—and here he'd mastered Simon's demanding training. He started with Haut Moira, then Shiv, then Pidge, sorry, Baronettes Paloma and Stella, then the Baronne, Jet, Em, even Rish's few comments in the first five minutes, and continued letter-perfect. It wasn't that way for the whole meeting, but they wouldn't have to know that.

“You weren't even here for part of that!” Amiri was narrowing his eyes, preparing to shout him down.

“Oh, yes, wandering around, being your waiter, sneaking sips of your liquor, going out into the corridor a bit—it all helps. I'm invisible like the Jewels, but I can move around. All around. Anywhere you want me to be. It helps if I have some time to set up, but it's not necessary. Oh, and”—. He pulled another small metal cylinder from the flask. “It produces short-term static for other listening and recording devices. If I wander through a room, I can touch it in my pocket without taking the flask out.

“The flask holds only enough alcohol to wash around my mouth when I need to be drunk.” It had other uses he didn't care to tell them. Everyone knew about multi-purpose knives, and the flask was like that. A section swung out as he demonstrated two small knives, a pair of scissors and a screwdriver. The other items he didn't show included a tiny microphone and recorder, a stylus, a folded up flimsy, matches—the classics. Simon had insisted on the stiletto. 

Baronette Stella smiled unpleasantly. “Well, that's a nice trinket. But what good are you if someone takes it?” She lunged forward to knock it away, and said, “Ow! What's that?”

Byerly put all his smarm into his smile. 

“It's personally coded—nothing will open for anyone but me. It will briefly shock people, and fail to open any other function beside the flask if they try."

Pidge said something under her breath to Stella, and By heard her perfectly well from an implant they hadn't seen.

“He probably hides his contraceptives in the flask, too.”

“Actually, that's not a bad idea, but heat isn't too good for them,” he blandly informed them. They blinked gratifyingly.

“Or a blow dart—how about that?” Rish got into the act.

“Mmm, probably not enough room in this one. But there could be in others.”

He wasn't about to give them show-and-tell on all the devices and tools he'd devised in the last ten years. Lock-picks, metal slides to jimmy open lightflier doors, a tiny, but effective, flash-bang grenade hidden in yet another flask. Garotte wire, though he hoped never to use it. Simon's insistence, again. He traveled with as much equipment as a field pack, all in miniature. Lady Alys supervised his exquisite clothes, and Simon showed him how to hide his kit in it. 

Haut Moira leaned forward. “I thought Rish had made a huge mistake, favoring a wild-caught for her paramour. But you've got skills we can use. Welcome to the clan.”

Byerly smiled and gave them a tiny By-bow. His feelings were mixed. Helping two enemies of Barrayar had never been his plan. And he didn't want to be exiled from Vorbarr Sultana forever. Hopefully, once House Cordonah had won its battle with the Prestenes, he might be repatriated. But that was for another day. He slipped around to Rish's seat and pulled her back onto a small sofa. There were three sofas, two of two seats, one of three seats, with upholstery of slightly different textures, tiny tears and snags where he could plant...

The conversation continued. He was forgotten, left to snuggle Rish. She looked at him. “You're still doing it, aren't you?”

He smiled wearily. “All the time. But unlike Simon's chip, I can delete what I don't need.  
And the good memories stay forever, too. They don't fade nearly as much as other people's seem to.”

Baronette Paloma was now serving the group. She'd pulled up a greater selection of drinks for them. There were two types of coffee, hot chocolate, three kinds of tea, including chai, sweeteners, lemons—twelve lemon slices, milk, honey—two varieties of honey, cream, raw sugar; there were three different sets of china, two styles of cutlery...He pulled Rish in for a kiss and sent his mind to rest in the moment.


End file.
